


I’ll Colour Me Blue

by veegirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, I suck at summaries and tags, I'm Sorry, Injury, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Violence, Regret, Student Harry, Student Louis, Unrequited Love, Violence, actually it's quite angsty, it's angsty but not as angsty as the tags would suggest I promise, past assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:51:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veegirl/pseuds/veegirl
Summary: There’s a flicker of something familiar in the corner of his eye just when he’s turning left, towards the little cafeteria he has to walk through to get to the exam room. He doesn’t even really see it, he just recognizes the laugh. It isn’t that loud, but the hall is rather quiet, what with only a low chatter right on the edges of the space through which Harry’s gaze zooms.And that’s- Yeah. That’s Louis.Or the college AU in which Harry and Louis have a past they are both doing their best to forget, and everyone majors in philosophy.





	I’ll Colour Me Blue

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Fun fact: this story is actually (loosely) based on things that really happened to people. Not to me, though. And just as a side note, Louis and Lottie’s age gap in this fic is more like 2-3 years. Enjoy reading!  
>  **WARNINGS:** This story contains a somewhat graphic description of a past physical assault. If that’s something you might be triggered by, please do not proceed to read.  
>  **Disclaimer:** While including characters based on the personas of real, existing persons, this story is a work of fiction and is absolutely not meant to imply anything about these persons, their lives, personalities, sexualities, relationships, opinions, or anyone connected to them.  
>  Title from ‘Blue’ by Troye Sivan and Alex Hope.

 

 

_I know you're seeing black and white_

_So I'll paint you a clear blue sky_

_Without you I am colour-blind_

_It's raining every time I open my eyes_

_(Blue – Troye Sivan ft. Alex Hope)_

Harry knows he isn’t late, but he’s striding up the broad grey stone stairs two at a time. He just never wants to be late for an exam, even if this time it’s an electric one, one where nobody is waiting for his arrival, nobody is going to close the door from ahead of him and he has plenty of time to answer all the questions even if he came there half an hour late. Besides, he isn’t late. So it doesn’t really matter.

And maybe it’s more about the thrumming energy running through his veins, the restlessness that has settled heavy in his bones during all those summer months of doing nothing and stayed all through September, still trying to take it easy.

There aren’t that many people in the hall, just a few students sitting in small groups on the black leather seats by the window and quietly conversing, a small stream of people coming from the direction of the big dining hall, a couple of teachers passing him hurriedly as they head towards the bigger auditoriums.

Harry takes a breath as he reaches the landing. Right, he’s done this before, he knows where he’s going. The place is still so big it’s a little overwhelming sometimes. He’s stuck to pretty much exclusively doing electric exams this autumn. It’s not that he’d be unable to attend any lectures instead of just opting for reading a bunch of books, it’s just that he’s been busy, he has. Nick has needed his help at the store more now, since he had to spend all summer on sick leave and he’s had a lot of catching up to do. Work-wise and… body function -wise.

And maybe he just isn’t too eager to run into certain people. Certain people he for sure couldn’t avoid if he were to attend all the same classes as them.

There’s a flicker of something familiar in the corner of his eye just when he’s turning left, towards the little cafeteria he has to walk through to get to the exam room. He doesn’t even really see it, he just recognizes the laugh. It isn’t that loud, but the hall is rather quiet, what with only a low chatter right on the edges of the space through which Harry’s gaze zooms.

And that’s- Yeah. That’s Louis.

And it really isn’t fair, the way Harry sees him walking from the dining hall with all of their friends. Harry isn’t even looking at anyone else, but he knows they’re all there. Zayn is walking right beside Louis and listening to some vivid story that is making him smile and shake his head and- Oh god, Zayn.

Harry hasn’t seen him since- when? The end of April, May? They have talked via text messages and they had all these plans to meet up when they’d both be in Manchester at the same time, but it just never happened. Harry even asked him if he was going to Leeds and of course he was going, having snatched that super cool summer job as the culture journalist of some super cool local newspaper that handed out free tickets to all their employees. But Harry had chickened out the last minute, he’d decided it was better not to meet after all, better to just stay in London and smoke away with Liam and all his weird friends. Harry has missed Zayn quite terribly.

But _still_. _Louis_ is there.

So Harry just turns away and takes a couple of steps towards the cafeteria’s glass door.

“Harry!”

At the first shout of his name he doesn’t look back. They’re still far enough for him to pretend he didn’t hear it. But then he sees that someone with a wheelchair is kind of stuck in the doorway and he’ll have to stop, and when he hears his name being yelled across the hall again, it becomes obvious that he can’t do much else but turn and lift his gaze to the small group of friends getting closer.

He plasters a smile onto his face and waits for them to get close enough to talk to. It was Liam who yelled his name, Harry realizes. They’ve seen each other quite a lot over the summer, since they both mostly stayed back in London while most of their friends headed to their hometowns to spend time with family and old friends and work whatever job they could find for the summer.

Liam has cut his hair again. Not to the kind of crop it was before, but short all the same. His face is set to an enthusiastic expression. But then again, it always is. That boy doesn’t know how to _not_ get excited.

It’s still kind of cruel of Liam to do this now. He doesn’t know everything, but he certainly knows more than he should, considering how much less Harry actually likes Liam compared to Zayn. Liam just happened to be there and Zayn wasn’t. Harry should really talk to Zayn, maybe try to explain a bit of why they’ve stayed separated for so long, why Harry has declined his invitations to those few parties he’s missed this autumn. It’s not like Zayn saw much more effort for their friendship during the past months, but Harry is pretty sure that’s just because Zayn is naturally a bit of a loner, he gets on well with himself and doesn’t miss other people as vigorously as other people tend to miss him. Harry has missed him.

But not right now. They can’t talk now. They’ll do that later.

“Haven’t seen you around much!” Liam exclaims.

_Yeah, I’ve been hiding from all of you on purpose._

“I know, I’ve just been quite busy,” he settles on, fiddling awkwardly with the strap of his backpack.

There’s no hesitation or doubt in Liam’s brown eyes. It’s as if he doesn’t even quite realize that Louis is standing right there and Harry is standing right here and this is blowing Harry’s mind apart and it’s just about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Aren’t you always,” Liam grins, speaking without true meaning like he often does, just to say something. “Oh, by the way, there’s a party this week, on Friday, actually. You heard of that?”

“Yeah I think I saw something about it on Facebook. Are you guys going?” he asks and that’s when he lets his gaze slide left from Liam for the first time.

Louis looks undeniably like himself, but there’s something so different about it. It pierces right through Harry’s lungs and he tries to breathe and he tries to listen to Liam go on and on about how the party is something thrown by the subject association and it’s probably going to be boring, but the after party and-

Louis’ eyes are blue, just like they always were. There’s really no other way to describe them, to describe _him_. If anyone ever asked Harry what Louis looks like, he would probably just blurt out that he has blue eyes, blue like the ocean. And that’s that.

But he’s standing with his feet planted firmly on the ground like he has to restrain himself from bolting off and his hands are clasped in front of him, his mouth at a stance that says he’s biting his lower lip from the inside and trying not to show it. His hair is still pretty much the same messy sweep over his forehead and he is the same height and shape and size. But his clothes are totally different. It’s like he became an Adidas model over the summer, just Adidas from the snapback on his head to the sneakers on his feet. There’s no trace of the striped shirts and the bright coloured chinos he used to wear.

He looks- better. Definitely better, and it’s not even about the clothes. The black shadows are gone from under his eyes, he looks like he slept at night, or probably many nights. His skin has a healthier glow of caramel brown, summer tan still visible. He’s not pale like he used to be, eyes sharper, not red. He looks like he has worked out, too.

Harry never liked him for his looks, but he just looks so breathtakingly beautiful right now. He is so beautiful.

He looks like he isn’t hungover. And of course Harry has talked to him some after what happened, after May, but he hasn’t really seen him like this. He hasn’t _seen_ the change. And anyway, every time they talked it was mostly about the money, the agreement, what they were going to do with this and _I’m so sorry, please forgive me_ and _you don’t have to say sorry, you’re already forgiven_. And Harry really doesn’t want to think back to that. Is anyone ever really, truly forgiven?

The conversation has trailed off to an awkward halt and Harry feels a bit like he has just been asked a question, but he’s got no idea what it was, so he just turns to Zayn and asks him: “So, are you going? To the party?”

“Yeah, I think I might. It’d be good to see everyone,” Zayn says, smiling, blissfully oblivious to whatever it might be that is currently making things awkward between any members of this little group of people.

“Yeah, it’d be good. So… maybe we’ll see there,” Harry replies. “I’m sorry to cut this short, I’m just probably already late for an exam, so I really have to go.”

“Oh! We won’t keep you any longer then! Good luck!” Liam says as if he is genuinely excited for Harry’s exam. “Just come to the party, it’ll be fun!”

“I- yeah, I’ll think about it,” Harry mumbles back.

And didn’t Liam just say it’s probably going to be boring or something like that? Harry can’t remember, having been too absorbed in Louis’ eyes by then. He lets himself glance up at them once more, but Louis isn’t looking back anymore. He is like a caged bird desperately waiting to be set free so he can fly off. This must be all kinds of painful for him, too. Maybe more so than Harry thought. It isn’t Harry’s fault, but he feels a little bad all the same, knowing he is part of the reason why Louis is being so hard on himself, squirming in his own skin.

They all leave with something between the lines of _see you_ and _good luck_. Louis still doesn’t say anything. He nods his goodbyes towards Harry without really looking at him.

Then they are gone, down the same stairs Harry just climbed up. He remembers being a part of that group at some point of last winter, sitting in the cafeteria after lectures and having drunken conversations in the bar they consider their usual hangout every Thursday. Maybe he still is a part of it in some sense, it’s a loose group, anyway. But nothing feels the same now.

 

\---

 

Harry ends up going to the party. It’s held at a place that the subject association rented, not too far from the university, easy to find. It isn’t anything too glamorous, just a room with this big conference table filled with food and all kinds of snacks and another big, dimly lit room with sofas and chairs forming a seemingly random pattern around a bunch of low tables. And a swimming pool at the very end.

When Harry arrives, most of the others are already there. Zayn, Sophia, Niall… Louis. And some people Harry doesn’t recognize or has maybe only seen once. Some freshmen, too.

After pouring himself some white wine Harry puts his bottle in the fridge situated in the conference room or whatever it is supposed to be. Most party quests are in the next room conversing with the music quietly flowing on the background. He is just pondering whether to go join them and say hi to everyone, when he sees Jade burst through the door leading from the small entry hall to the conference room. Harry can physically feel his face light up. He hasn’t seen her in a long time.

“Jade!” he cries out with a little too much enthusiasm.

He had a few drinks at home already, liquid courage, whatever.

“Oh, hello Harry,” Jade answers when she notices him. “The weather really isn’t great.”

She is still trying to shake her long hair from her face as if she’d entered the building in too much of a haste to do so earlier. The rain has smudged her makeup a little under her eyes, but not too noticeably so. Or maybe it’s just a new trend amongst girls, how would Harry know about these things.

He takes a step closer and hugs her small body tight to his chest. He has really missed all his friends and until now he hadn’t quite realized how much. Then again, maybe none of his friends had seen Jade that much either. Harry vaguely remembers that night last spring when they all went clubbing and by the closing hour Jade and Leigh-Anne were full on snogging in the corner. Towards the end of the summer Sophia complained about how lonely she was all the time, since Leigh doesn’t hang out with her anymore now that she’s always with Jade. Leigh and Sophia even had these crazy plans of moving together at some point (as friends of course, since Sophia is very much straight), but Harry guesses that never happened.

Jade answers the hug and they sway on their feet a little.

“You look great!” Harry tells her while holding her an arm’s length away to really look at her.

She scoffs a bit, but takes the compliment without too much resistance.

“So do you. I haven’t seen you for such a long time,” she says and doesn’t give Harry a chance to reply before she goes on a rant about how she wasn’t quite sure if this was supposed to be a potluck, but she brought a few packs of crisps all the same.

Then Zayn is there. He just waves his hand at Jade before heading towards the fridge to get his refill of wine. A small trail of people follows him from the other room. Harry keeps an eye on them while he lets Jade go on about her summer and her studies. He nods in all the right places. Harry isn’t sure what he is waiting for. To see Louis, probably. But Louis isn’t one of the people around the fridge and Harry decides to give Jade his undivided attention. All until Jade suddenly announces she has to use the bathroom.

That’s when Zayn drapes himself over Harry’s back asking him how he’s been.

“Good, all good. How about you?” Harry says sipping at his wine.

“I’m good. All these courses keeping me busy.”

As they talk, they move to the other room, the one with the swimming pool. It is more heated in there, Harry feels his t-shirt getting glued to his skin due to the humidity. Zayn leads him towards the couches that have been claimed by a group of people most of whom Harry knows. Zayn squeezes himself to the end of one couch while Harry greets everyone. It’s an awkward wave of his hand, more than anything.

He lets his eyes skim over the couches and there’s really only one seat left. It’s not next to Louis, which is… good. Harry feels strange disappointment curling in his stomach as he sits next to Sophia even though he knows that she doesn’t really like him.

He’s more aware of Louis’ form sitting on the other side of Sophia than the arm Sophia throws over Harry’s shoulders to give him a side-hug. He honestly doesn’t know why she bothers to put up this charade of a friendship.

She decided she doesn’t like him the day they met, pretty much the same way everyone here seems to have judged each other, were it a positive or a negative judgement. Zayn likes Harry because he was the first person who started a conversation with him on the first day of uni. Sophia likes Zayn simply because the first time she saw him she decided he was a person she wanted to befriend. She likes Liam because she thought he was hot. And she dislikes Harry because she thinks he is beautiful and gay and somehow magically able to woo any man – even a straight one – off his feet. And because Liam tried to get in bed with him that one time and took a liking to him that hasn’t faded over time, even if he isn’t sexually interested in him anymore.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Liam, maybe Sophia wouldn’t detest Harry quite so much.

Harry carries on his conversation with Zayn, and Sophia tags on to it, always trying to prove that Zayn is closer to her than to Harry. It isn’t so bad in times like this, when she acts all civilized, but sometimes there are moments when she either makes herself small or tries to make Harry small, and those times are just awkward. Harry knows she has issues with her self-esteem, so he bears with her.

“I was with this guy once, I mean, just someone I picked up at a club. And I was really drunk when we got to his flat and he had a cat-,” Sophia laughs so hard she has to wait it out before she can continue her story. “I was so drunk I was just sitting on the floor and petting the cat for- I don’t even know how long. And the guy was just there like, with his cock out, like ‘are you going to get to bed or…?’”

Then she bursts out laughing and maybe it is kind of a hilarious image. Zayn chuckles and claps his hands sarcastically on the other side of the low table. Harry smiles to himself. He likes it when his friends are like this, all happy, eyes crinkling with joy and everyone getting on well. Even Sophia.

“But the question is, did you go to bed with him?” Zayn says and leans forward to catch Sophia’s answer over the chatter that keeps getting louder as the night goes on and people get drunker.

“Are you kidding me? Of course I did! What kind of a question is that? I would never pass a good fuck.”

“Well, good for you. And since you remember that much about it, I’m assuming you weren’t too drunk for it to be consensual,” Zayn replies.

“No, but the next morning I almost let his cat escape. The guy really seemed like he’d had enough of me,” Sophia snorts. “No regrets, though.”

“I think I’ve actually always made it back to my own flat before the morning,” Zayn muses. “No, wait! There was that one time when Leigh didn’t let me go home, I was so drunk she thought I’d either end up dead or raped.”

“I remember that party, though I wasn’t there. You told me about it, the one where you fell down the stairs, right?” Harry says to contribute into the conversation.

Everyone laughs at that memory, even Zayn, though he presses his face down to his palms in embarrassment.

“I slept on Louis’ floor once,” Harry says then without really knowing why that was a necessary comment.

He kind of freezes and hopes no one questions it any further. Not the kind of direction he should veer this conversation in. It just slipped.

“What?” Zayn asks leaning even further over the table.

“Slept on Louis’ floor once,” Harry repeats for him.

Zayn pulls a weirded out face, but doesn’t ask about it as Sophia starts to tell about another one of her drunken encounters. For a second Harry thinks his comment is in the past and forgotten, but then he sees from the corner of his eye how Louis is leaning back to look at him past Sophia. His spine feels very stiff, all of a sudden.

“What? Heard my name?” Louis questions.

This is the first time he’s talking to Harry in person after what happened in May. Harry turns his head. He’s panicking a little, but when his eyes lock with Louis’, it’s like a natural pull for him to lean to the backrest of the couch and twist his body a little past Sophia just to get closer.

Louis’ eyes hold the same reservation they held in the university hallway, but his gaze is clear and focused, staring with an open question. Harry has heard about this, he guesses everyone has. Louis still attends parties, but he’s always drinking something non-alcoholic. Harry is sure he’s had his fair share of curious queries about his sudden turnaround. Maybe he’s come up with a believable lie, maybe he just squirms out of the inquiries. But Harry is sure he’s not spreading the truth around. They agreed they wouldn’t, and it’s probably even more important to Louis than to Harry.

“Just- nothing really,” Harry fumbles with his words.

Maybe the wine is getting to his head more than he thought.

Louis’ eyes are skimming his face and he feels the urge to turn away and walk right out of the building and all the way back to his flat. But at the same time something is keeping him there. Maybe he doesn’t even know what he wants. That seems like the most likely solution to the mess that is the current state of his mind.

His left wrist gives a painful throb where it’s wedged against the backrest. It’s like it _knows_ that _Louis_ is here and so _close_ and Harry doesn’t even know what he wants. He moves his hand down to his lap. Louis’ eyes follow the movement and isn’t this just awkward. He notices and there’s _so much sadness_ , in his eyes right then, it’s like it could pour out.

“I just mentioned the time I slept on your floor, I mean, we were talking about things we’ve done when we were drunk,” Harry hurries to explain just to say something, to cut the silence between them.

There’s a brief blackening in his vision, when he realizes his words aren’t really helping. Louis nods and his eyes skip somewhere between Harry’s face and past it. He isn’t really saying anything, but Harry knows what he’s thinking, what they are both thinking of.

Harry slept on Louis’ floor, he did. All until he woke up at half past six in the morning and decided it was bad for his back and he was cold and it just felt too lonely. Then he slipped into Louis’ bed and put his cold toes against his calves, making him grumble disrupted and kick Harry in his sleep-haze. Then he’d draped Harry under his arm and that was that. That was that.

Harry kind of regrets they never did anything past that when it was still a possibility. But he just can’t think that way. Not now, not ever.

Harry leans back a little and tries to catch up with Zayn and Sophia’s conversation, but his focus is shattered. Sophia starts absentmindedly examining the ends of Harry’s shoulder length curls while she’s still nodding to something Zayn is saying.

“When are you going to cut your mane?” she demands to know.

“I don’t know. I like it,” Harry shrugs.

Then Sophia’s eyes wander past Harry and her hand falls off of his hair. Her face lights up like she just saw something she’s been waiting for all night. Harry glances behind his shoulder and- well, this explains a lot. Liam has just entered the room, but he’s stopped close to the door to talk to some people Harry doesn’t remember having seen before.

Sophia bolts up and heads towards Liam. Harry sips his wine and watches the scene unfold, when Sophia jumps to hug Liam excitedly. He really doesn’t understand how Liam can be so oblivious to all the heart-eyes and not-so-subtle love signals Sophia keeps sending his way. This has been going on for over a year now. Maybe Liam just doesn’t like her back. But on the other hand, Liam likes everyone.

Harry decides it’s best to mind his own business, when he realizes he needs a refill of wine. It’s also a good excuse to get up from the couch, where his skin has started to prickle with the knowledge that since Sophia is gone, there’s nothing but empty air between him and Louis.

As Harry walks back to the conference room, Liam playfully greets him with a slap on the backside. Harry tries to dodge him, but doesn’t quite manage. Liam just grins, but Sophia’s stare is deadly. If only she realized that Harry has zero interest in Liam as anything more than a friend, and same goes the other way around. It was one time, and Liam was very drunk. They’ve let it go. So should Sophia.

Harry fills his glass, and after a second of thought he takes the whole bottle with him to the other room. His wine would be chilled enough without the fridge. It is probably _too_ cold now, anyway. Or maybe he is just feeling a bit lazy and doesn’t think he’ll want to move from his spot on the couch another time.

On his way back towards the cluster of couches and chairs his friends have claimed Harry is stopped several times by casual acquaintances and some freshmen who want to introduce themselves. By the time he gets back to his friends, Jade has pulled a heavy looking armchair to face the end of the table and Leigh is sitting on the armrest of it, playing with Jade’s hair. Liam has claimed Harry’s previous spot at the end of the couch and Sophia is sitting in his lap, as if there wasn’t enough space between Liam and Louis for her to plant her ass to.

Harry greets Leigh with a kiss on her cheek. It’s still cold from the wind outside. She must not have been here for very long. Leigh retaliates by throwing her arms around Harry’s neck with a gleeful shout of his name. Leigh was hanging out at Liam’s a couple of times over the summer, but Harry hasn’t seen her after that. He lets his face be buried in Leigh’s wild black afro. She smells of oranges, must be her shampoo or something.

“Take a seat, love,” Leigh instructs with a hand gesture to the direction of the only free sitting space between Liam and Louis.

For a second Harry is left contemplating whether he could just sit on the armrest of the couch, but it looks lumpy and frail, and Liam and Sophia are leaning against it in a way that would leave Harry very little space to crouch on.

So he accepts his fate and takes a seat beside Louis with a deep sigh. He doesn’t think anyone notices, the music has been turned louder. Well, maybe Louis notices. Their arms brush as Harry leans forward to put his wine bottle on the table. When he leans back again, they’re suddenly connected from shoulder to elbow and Harry just breathes through it.

Louis is the one to move away. He tries to be discreet about it, squirming himself sideways a bit to look at the other people around the low wooden table filled with glasses, cans and bottles. He has a glass in his own hand, too, filled with something champagne coloured. Harry turns away and joins the conversation going on between Leigh, Liam and Sophia.

He is painfully aware of how close Louis is. There are spots where they are almost touching, probably just a couple on millimetres between them. And they’re both like wired strings trying to keep that space there. Harry’s whole body feels stiff with how hard he’s trying to keep his posture unmoving. He feels a drop of sweat sliding down the back of his neck and infiltrating to the collar of his shirt.

“Is anyone thinking of taking a swim?” Harry asks no one in particular.

“We weren’t informed about the pool beforehand, so I don’t think a lot of people have their swimwear. But skinny-dipping is always a possibility,” Niall grins from the other side of the table.

Niall is the slightly weird Irish vegan guy who is good friends with Louis and who has a unique style of dancing with his skinny limbs flailing wildly. Someone you really should look out for, if you end up on the dance floor at the same time as him. Niall is also the person whose family’s vacation home they had an over-night party at in May. That night.

Harry doesn’t know how much Niall knows about what happened. He was there, but not in the heart of the situation like Liam. He’s close with Louis, though, and from the way Niall’s eyes move between Harry and Louis, Harry can take a guess of what kind of a talk Louis may have had with him. Probably the same talk Harry should have had with Zayn time ago.

“Skinny-dipping! Who’s in?” Jade yells excitedly when she catches on to what the boys are talking about.

“I’m in!” Niall replies immediately and jumps up.

He’s already ripping off his shirt while everyone else starts laughing at his enthusiasm. Jade buries her face in Leigh’s side as she shakes from embarrassed laughter.

“Stay in your pants, she’s taken!” Leigh pipes up while cradling Jade’s head closer to her.

That erupts a burst of gasps and whistles from everyone. It was pretty much common knowledge that something was going on between the two girls, but until now no one knew exactly _what_. The surprise turns quickly to applause and congratulations.

Niall has already stripped down to his underwear when he sprints around the couch to kiss both Jade and Leigh on the top of their heads.

“Happy for you, but you should still join me!” he says right before he jumps into the pool with water splashing all over to where Harry is sitting.

Everyone starts getting up from the couches with the intention to join Niall. The only ones who stay sitting are Zayn and some girl who takes Niall’s vacant seat beside him and strikes up a conversation.

Louis hasn’t moved either. Harry risks a glance in his direction. Louis has stretched his feet in front of him and leaned his left elbow on the armrest, maybe to put more space between himself and Harry. Harry still feels hot. He kind of wants to follow the others to the pool, but he doesn’t want to be all drenched afterwards. He also kind of wants to move further away from Louis now that there’s more space on the couch, but that would just look awkward. He can’t seem to come up with any way he could do it and make it look natural.

So he does the opposite. He turns his body towards Louis, putting just a couple of inches more space between them.

“How are they going to get dry again?” Harry asks Louis and keeps his gaze in Sophia, who is just tying up her hair so it won’t get wet.

“There are towels back there,” Louis says without looking at Harry and nods his head towards a closed door by the corner. “Showers, too.”

“Oh. Right. Do you want to swim?”

Harry is basically holding his breath. He lets his gaze slide over Louis’ features, his straight nose and sharp cheekbones and dark eyelashes. Now that the water of the swimming pool is in motion, it sends blue light dancing over everything around it in the shadowy room, over Louis’ face. He is looking down at his lap, at the glass he’s holding.

“I don’t know why you’re asking. But no, I think I won’t,” he answers slowly like he’s calculating every word.

_You are my friend, you idiot, that’s why I’m asking._

Harry doesn’t say anything. He just continues staring at Louis, even though something is wired too tight in his chest, like metal gripping around his heart, making it pump faster like this is its last chance and it’s trying to put all in. _Calm down_ , Harry tells himself.

“You’re better, aren’t you?” Harry asks quietly, the matter too delicate for any prying ears.

Louis just shrugs, barely noticeably. Well, Harry isn’t giving in that easily. He doesn’t know if he’s driven by rationality or wine, but he isn’t giving in now that they’re sitting here, so close and just the two of them.

“So are you not talking to me now?” he asks, and no matter how hard he tries to hide the hurt in his voice, it shines through.

That’s when Louis sighs and leans forward to place his glass on the table. He rubs his hands down the fabric of his jeans. He moves back, but still doesn’t look at Harry.

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” he says, sounding less calculating than the last time he opened his mouth.

“I know.”

Harry slides his hand to the gap between Louis’ arm and ribs and places it on the inside of his bicep. He leans a little closer without really thinking about any of his actions anymore. He must be just crazy. But crazy gets Louis’ attention, apparently, since he turns his head towards Harry and is finally looking him in the eye. Harry guesses that’s all he wanted to begin with.

“I wish you weren’t so mad at yourself,” Harry says when he has Louis’ full attention.

The sadness Harry saw earlier flashes across Louis’ face again, but he doesn’t turn away.

“Don’t you think it’s better that way? For us both.”

While Louis talks, all Harry can do is let his gaze skip between the blue of his eyes and the captivating movement of his lips. It must be true that you always start craving for things only as soon as they’re gone. You only recognize a possibility when it’s already crushed.

Yet here Harry is, sitting just inches away from Louis with his right hand against his warm, soft skin.

“But I’ll miss you if you stay away for too long,” Harry confesses in almost a whisper.

_I miss you already, so terribly._ He doesn’t say it aloud. He feels the burning behind his eyes when Louis doesn’t reply, but he forces it to stay from taking him over.

Then Louis rises his arm, drapes it over Harry’s shoulders and gently pulls him in. Too startled to react in any other way than the one that comes the most naturally to him, Harry places his head on Louis’ shoulder, almost nosing at his neck. With his free hand Louis takes hold of Harry’s left wrist like it’s something fragile, like his bones could snap from the smallest amount of pressure. Harry’s breath is caught in his throat again.

Louis smooths his thumb over Harry’s wrist bone in the softest swipe and whispers in his hair.

“Please don’t miss me.”

 

\---

 

A bottle of wine proves itself to be a bad decision, when Harry is puking his insides into the toilet in the backroom of the Yves Saint Laurent boutique on Old Bond Street. All that comes out is liquid, yellowish slime that mostly just tastes of alcohol and gastric acid. He skipped breakfast in favour of making it to work in time, and right now it seems equally like a good and a bad decision. Maybe he’d be feeling better if he ate, but he doubts it. It’s much more likely he’d just be vomiting bacon and eggs.

Once he gets to the dry-heaving phase, he forces himself to get a grip and pushes himself up swiping his mouth. He washes his hands and his face and tries to rid his mouth of the taste of vomit, but he doesn’t have any toothpaste, so it’s a futile effort. In the end he just chews on some gum and then spits it into the bin. He dusts off the knees of his black dress pants and checks that the black shirt he is required to wear for work is still clean. His reflection in the mirror looks like a mess, but there’s not much he can do about that now. He has already spent too many minutes in the bathroom, while he should be up front with Nick and Cara selling sumptuous garments to rich folks.

As Harry exits the backroom and takes his place behind the counter, Nick takes one look at him from where he is putting new handbags for display a few feet away. He raises an arched eyebrow with his mouth pressed into a disapproving line. He isn’t really a strict boss, but it’s quite understandable if he disapproves of Harry’s hungover state right now. Not that there would currently be any customers.

“Didn’t you say you’re having a break from partying?” Nick questions as he accompanies Harry behind the counter and marks something down in his inventory book.

“Yeah,” Harry drags out the word, then clears his throat, voice hoarse from the puking. “I made an exception.”

“Well, it certainly backfired, now didn’t it?”

Harry gives Nick an unimpressed look. Nick doesn’t have to be so mean about it. Maybe it is Harry’s own fault he’s feeling so bad, but there’s no need to rub it in his face. It’s not like he doesn’t already know he should have just skipped the party last night. This time he wouldn’t have even needed an excuse, since he was going to work the next day. Thinking back to it now, he isn’t sure why he went there. It had just been too long since he did anything like that, since he saw everyone. Since he saw _Louis_.

Or maybe it was a chain reaction that started in the university hallway. And Harry feels like it hasn’t ended yet. He bites his lip, when images of last night rise from his memory.

They sat on the sofa with Louis, talking about mundane things like their studies and their families and work, and Louis held his wrist through it all. It wasn’t anything special, but maybe more special than anything Harry has had before. That lasted all until Niall suddenly threw his wet body over their laps and got them both soaked despite their decision to not take a swim. Somehow Louis saw that coming and pulled Harry’s hand out of the way right before it was crushed by Niall’s bony bum. Maybe it was because Louis was significantly less drunk than Harry at that point.

“So, how was it? Any nice boys come your way?” Nick asks from where he is still scribbling notes to the book.

Harry’s head snaps up. He drowned in his thoughts for a moment.

“Um… No.”

_A way to be convincing, Harry._

“Oh! You were with _him_ , weren’t you?” Nick says in a teasing tone and finally rises his head up to look at Harry.

There’s a smirk on his face like he knows something Harry didn’t mean to tell him in the first place, but Harry honestly has no idea what he is going on about.

“With who?” he asks, frowning confusedly.

“Don’t play dumb! That boy you always talk about, the one you’re thinking about when you get that look, all dreamy like. I’ve seen it, don’t try to hide it, Styles!”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry insists, though he feels his face getting hotter.

There’s no need to _blush_ over Louis. They’re _friends_ , for God’s sake. And he doesn’t get a dreamy look- Does he?

“Oh, Harry, you know exactly who I’m talking about. You always refer to him as ‘one of my friends’, but you don’t talk about him the same way as you talk about everyone else. Look, you’re blushing right now!” Nick sounds way too exhilarated.

“Am not. I talk about him the same as all my friends.”

“So there _is_ a him!” Nick clearly counts that as a victory. “C’mon, Harry, tell me his name. This has been going on for way too long for me to not even know his name. Did you two get separated over the summer? Is that why you’ve been all gloomy throughout the autumn? And now you’re back together?”

Harry just stares at him. Nick is evidently ready to hear the story of star-crossed lovers, but he doesn’t know half of it. First of all, it was never a love story, and secondly, it’s a story with a bigger twist than what Nick could probably ever imagine. Even now, while Harry is able to work again after his long sick leave, all he’s really useful for is standing behind the register. Filling the shelves and unpacking new articles of clothing and accessory are mostly left for all the other employees, all because Harry’s wrist has been made so damn useless.

“Okay, I’ll admit ‘a him’ exists, but we are not, nor have we ever been, anything more than friends. And I’m not telling you his name,” Harry replies with finality, still a little pissed off about Nicks ability to dig the truth out of him.

Nick is just about to open his mouth to protest, when Cara strides down the stairs and stops in front of the registers. Judging by the big empty cardboard box in her hands she was upstairs putting some new clothes on display. Her eyes fly between Harry and Nick for a moment, before they settle on Harry.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly.

“Always loved you for your candor,” Harry tells her with a smile.

“You could do with some concealer for those black circles under your eyes, though. Just so you don’t scare away the customers,” she says, still examining Harry with a critical look on her face.

Harry rolls his eyes at her. It’s weird how her criticism, how ever frank, only makes him feel a bit better about himself. Maybe the day won’t be as painful as he imagined. If only Nick realizes to stop his investigations on Louis.

 

\---

 

“So, what have you been doing this autumn? You’re not on any of the same courses as me. You’re working, aren’t you?” Zayn asks a bit distractedly from where he is standing in front of his full-body mirror.

He is currently dabbing silver-coloured glitter all over his face, because apparently he is confident enough in his masculinity to dress up as a pixie prince for the Halloween party they are about to attend tonight. Well, he has the face to pull that off. Harry, on the other hand, just pulled on some ripped t-shirt, painted a messy scar to cover half of his face and dribbled red paint over the white shirt to resemble blood stains. He feels like Zayn’s idea was cleverer. The glitter dust actually emphasizes his cheekbones and makes him look even better than he already does on a daily basis.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been working and doing some electric exams,” Harry says, taking a pause to sip his wine. “But I didn’t actually work at all in the summer. I was on sick leave.”

“Really? Why, what happened?” Zayn asks and takes a worried glance at Harry, but continues with his face-decorating as if to not appear too pushy with his worry.

Harry takes a deep breath and contemplates his chances. This is it, now or never. He has pushed off telling Zayn for long enough. They haven’t seen each other after the subject association party, but it is no excuse. Zayn is basically his best friend, and he deserves to know.

“It’s something that happened- I got hurt. It has something to do with Louis,” Harry rambles on without knowing how to explain the events of last May. “I don’t want you to think differently of him after I tell you this. And you should know that almost no one knows about this. I haven’t told anyone, and we decided with Louis that we wouldn’t talk about it to anyone. Cause you know what Louis is like, he’s lovely. But his life could literally be ruined if people found out about this.”

Zayn takes another look at Harry. He looks worried, but his facial expression stays calm, like it always does. He’s one of the most diplomatic people Harry knows, always waiting to hear the full story before making any judgement. And even then, his conclusions usually take all parties into account. And that’s what makes him such a good person to talk to. He always listens, and he sees people for what they are instead of making hasty judgement by small fractions of the evidence. He’s always able to see the things people try so hard to hide under a thick cover, but he won’t pry. He waits until you come to him.

“Go on, please,” Zayn just says. “I won’t spread anything that has been told to me confidentially, you know that.”

“I know. So, last May there was this party at Niall’s family’s vacation home, you know?”

“Yeah, I remember. I didn’t really even consider going, cause it’s so far away. I didn’t know you were there either.”

“Yeah, I kind of just went there spontaneously. There were a lot of those older students that I don’t really know. I basically only knew Niall and Louis and Liam. But like, when I got there, Louis had been there for a couple of days already. And they said he’d been drinking that whole time, like just non-stop drinking. But you couldn’t really tell, I mean, by the evening I was drunk too, so.”

“Sounds like Louis,” Zayn mumbles. “Or like last year’s Louis.”

“I know, it got really out of hand, right? And it was fun there, for a while. But then at some point we went outside for a smoke, just me and Louis and his sister. His sister had these sunglasses and I took them from her and played with them and stuff, I don’t really remember what happened. But then we started getting back inside and… somewhere on the way there Louis- um, he tried to kiss me, but like, I just turned my head away and kind of rejected him.”

“What?” Zayn turns to Harry and looks really surprised for the first time. “He tried to kiss you?”

“Yeah, and I mean, I don’t know why I turned away, I just…” Harry puts his glass of wine on the table and sinks deeper into the chair he is sitting on. He feels his face getting hotter, but the fake scar will probably hide most of his blushing. “I sort of liked him ever since the first year’s autumn, you know?”

“No, Harry, I didn’t know. What the fuck?” Zayn says, seeming quite dumb-founded.

He comes to sit in an armchair facing Harry, apparently finished with his glitter mask.

“Yeah, I mean I thought he wasn’t my type, but he’s like the most interesting person I’ve ever met. First I just resisted that feeling, cause I was taken at the time, and when I broke up with my ex, I don’t know. I just felt like nothing good could ever really come out of me and Louis. And now it’s settled. But I haven’t even told you what happened yet. My stupid crush on him was just a side-note,” Harry explains, shaking his head.

“Okay, go on. I’ll try to swallow this new information as you tell your story,” Zayn says.

Harry flashes him a smile, but he can’t stop for too long. He just has to say it all now, once he’s started.

“Yeah, so he tried to kiss me, but I rejected him. And then as we walked inside the house and were standing in the corridor he asked me to give him the sunglasses I had taken from his sister and was still holding in my hand. As a joke I refused to give them to him, and then… He was like really angry, and before I knew what was happening, I could see something just snapping in him, like his eyes getting empty, as if he didn’t know what he was doing,” Harry pauses to take a breath.

He never really wants to think back to that moment, not in this much detail. But he guesses it’s just the only way he could tell this story; in full detail, so maybe Zayn will understand why it happened and won’t blame Louis quite so much.

“I think he tried to grab for the sunglasses, but I moved them further away from him, and he grabbed my wrist instead. Before I knew it, we were lying on the floor. He was on top of me and he twisted my wrist really hard, so hard that it bent over. The pain was so bad that I screamed and… He just didn’t stop, it felt like it lasted forever. I tried to fight him off, but he’s stronger than me, and I was in a really bad position. At that point I wasn’t even holding the sunglasses anymore, but I don’t think he realized it. I don’t think he realized much at all about what he did. Because suddenly he just let go. That’s when I ran into the bathroom and locked the door and, well, crumbled to the floor to cry and hold my wrist. I thought he broke my bones. He didn’t, but it felt like that.”

“My god, that’s horrible,” Zayn says eventually.

“I think he realized what he had done after he snapped out of that state. I don’t know what it was, but I mean, he was so drunk that he clearly didn’t know what he was doing,” Harry finds himself trying to defend Louis. “After that he went to get ice for me. The others had apparently heard me screaming, so they came to check on me, but I didn’t let anyone in. I was just genuinely scared. But then, eventually I let Liam come in with the ice. And I guess I explained to him what happened, but I was pretty pissed and horrified, so I’m not sure if I made any sense at all. Liam said that Louis had gone around the place collecting ice and chanting about how he had done something bad. So everyone who was there knows that something happened, but Liam is the only one who really knows what it was. And I feel like Louis has probably told Niall.”

“So this is why Louis stopped drinking,” Zayn concludes. “I asked him about it, but he said it was because of his sleeping medication. That lie never felt quite believable to me. Is your wrist okay now?”

Harry raises his left hand to examine his damaged wrist. Not that that helps. It looks like it’s fine, but he knows it’s not.

“Not really. At first I couldn’t do almost anything with it. It’s better now, but it still hurts if I lift up something. I just held the wine glass in my left hand for a while, and now the wrist hurts,” Harry tells, rolling his wrist gently to ease the dull ache. “The doctor said it might never fully heal.”

Zayn is quiet for a moment and stares at Harry’s wrist.

“You know that’s basically a physical assault, even if he’s your friend, and even if he was too drunk to know what he was doing,” Zayn says.

“I know,” Harry hurries to assure. “And we talked about it. We came to an agreement that I wouldn’t report him, if he pays for all my medical expenses. Money’s not really a problem for him, you know. And if he was sentenced for assault, he could never make a career as a teacher like he wants to.”

“That’s true,” Zayn admits. “And it’s just… that’s something I’d never expect of him. He isn’t a violent person, and I don’t think he’d ever hurt anyone. He must have really been out of it to do so.”

“Exactly. He actually has a really strict moral. But it doesn’t change what happened,” Harry shrugs.

“Yeah. But it’s good that you’ve talked it through with him. And I feel like it’s horrible to say this, but there’s really a good side to everything, cause at least now he has stopped drinking. I think he needed some kind of a wakeup call. It’s horrible that it had to happen on your expense.”

Harry just nods. He agrees with what Zayn is saying. It was good for Louis. As much as Louis blames himself, maybe that’s just what he needed in order to get his life in line and not go out drinking every night like he used to. But Harry just can’t be happy about it, not after what he had to go through for it to happen.

“Do you think you’ll forgive him someday? Or have you already?” Zayn asks.

It’s not a surprise that Zayn has noticed that Harry doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge for Louis.

“Well, we’ve talked it through, and there’s no grudge, but on the other hand, can you ever really forgive someone who has assaulted you? I’d love to say that I’ve been able to do that, but honestly, I’m still scared of him sometimes. He’s lovely, really, but it’s just how my body reacts to him, like it knows to be scared even if I just want to be with him like nothing happened,” Harry explains. “And doesn’t it sound just masochistic and cliché in all the worst ways that I’d forgive him like it’s nothing and go back to how things used to be?”

Zayn smiles and shakes his head.

“I understand why you’d feel a conflict like that. Cause he is a nice person, we both know that. But after what happened, it’s only natural to be more alert around him than you normally would. I’m a bit hurt that I never knew you had a crush on him, though.”

“Please, don’t even mention that,” Harry says and drops his face into his palms. “That just makes it all the more complicated. It’s not like I can think that way about him anymore.”

When Harry raises his face from his palms, Zayn is staring out the window of his single-room flat and giving Harry the space he needs to get himself together. Zayn has a contemplative look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure that Harry’s last statement was true.

Harry understands why Zayn isn’t acting too protective of him. Many would, but Zayn is just rational at heart. Despite his excellent understanding of other people’s feelings, he isn’t one to let his own feelings lead the way instead of his brain. And rationally thinking, they both know Louis would never hurt him again, probably not even if he decided to get drunk again someday.

Harry just can’t afford to let himself fall under a sense of security like that. He remembers how he came back to London the day after the party, how Liam offered to walk him back to his flat, but he insisted that he was fine and could make it on his own. And the second he stepped out of the bus and watched it speed off with Liam still inside it, he crumbled onto the pavement and started crying his eyes out in the middle of the street. People walked past him, but no one stopped to ask him what was wrong. And he was fucking thankful.

He can’t go through anything like that again.

 

\---

 

Harry can feel the falling snow dampening his hair and getting stuck on his eyelashes as he stands on the street, staring up at the windows without being able to recognize which one is Louis’. He pulls the collars of his coat up, takes a deep breath, and moves forward.

He has been here a couple of times this autumn, but both of those were gatherings where they were accompanied by a whole bunch of other friends. Now it’s just Harry. And he’d be lying if he said that that doesn’t scare him at all.

He has Louis’ door code saved on the notes of his phone, so he gets in, tries to shake some snow off his hair, and begins his climb up the stairs. By the door of Louis’ flat he stops. _It’s not a big deal_ , he tells himself. He won’t stay for long, it won’t be awkward. It will be fine, just casual. Louis said it was okay if he’d drop by, so there’s no reason to get unconfident. Harry just can’t help but wonder why he decided to put himself into this position in the first place, weird, uncalled-for hope fluttering in his chest as he clutches the carefully wrapped present in his hands. He could tell himself all he wanted that he would be able to let go and live without Louis, concentrating on himself instead, but some part of him clearly disagrees with that conclusion.

Just when Harry is about to extend his hand and press the doorbell, the door is pushed open, revealing Louis standing behind it with a quizzical look on his face.

“I saw you standing on the street,” Louis says. “Was wondering why it took you so long to get inside. You looked like you were trying to figure out how to climb the wall to the third floor instead of using the door.”

There is a smile playing on Louis’ lips, and it warms Harry’s heart. He knows he is treading dangerous waters, but all he really asks for is for things to go back to the way they were. He wants all the awkwardness removed. He just wants to be able to talk to Louis the way he used to, move around him without being afraid that something he says or does flips that switch of sadness and remorse behind Louis’ eyes and makes them both feel like shit about being around each other. Harry is well aware that what he wishes for may not be a possibility, but by this point he feels like he is willing to take whatever little pieces of friendship and comfort and familiarity he can get.

“I was just… thinking,” Harry answers and smiles at his feet, a little embarrassed of being caught staring at the windows.

“Be careful with that. Might hurt yourself,” Louis jokes, raising his eyebrows and moving aside to let Harry in.

The entry hallway is narrow, and Harry holds his breath as he slides in past Louis’ body. Then he turns right back around and hands Louis the gift. It would feel silly to hold on to it for any longer.

“You didn’t have to,” Louis mumbles, as he frowns and looks down at the gift, holding it in his hands carefully, almost as if it was some disconnected extension of Harry that he’s just as scared to break as the boy.

Because that’s just the way Louis handles him these days ‒ with the utmost care. But only if he has to. It’s easy to tell that he still does everything he can to not touch Harry at all.

“I wanted to. It’s a birthday gift. In advance,” Harry says, then adding: “Happy birthday.”

Pushed by a momentary burst of courage he steps closer and wraps his arms around Louis, burrowing his face into his neck, discreetly trying to sniff at the smell of his skin, taking in as much as he can, because he might not get another chance anytime soon. For the most part he does it just to satisfy his own masochistic urges, but he also wants to shake Louis up a little, show him that a touch isn’t going to break him. As he thinks about that, he’s still not quite sure that it’s true, but he wants it to be.

Louis is frozen for a second before he wraps his arms loosely around Harry’s middle and breathes out: “Thanks.”

Then Harry steps back, and he’s a bit too scared of what he might find in Louis’ expression, so he just turns towards the coat rack by the wall and proceeds to take off his outerwear. Then he follows Louis to the small kitchen.

Louis’ sister Lottie is sitting by the table, holding a round little mirror in one hand and a makeup brush in another. She’s staring into the mirror intently, and there’s a pile of makeup products spilling out from a big pink case on the table. As they enter the room, she looks up rather uninterestedly and greets Harry briefly before moving her gaze back to the mirror.

“I’ll um… Tea?” Louis asks, maybe still a bit dazzled by the hug.

Lottie gives him a weirded-out glance, but doesn’t say anything.

“Tea sounds good,” Harry assures him.

He sits down opposite Lottie. That’s when Lottie finally puts the mirror aside and raises her gaze up to Harry. She looks like she’s finished with her makeup, but Harry can’t really be sure. Lottie sizes him up, and the scrutiny makes the hairs on Harry’s arms stand up. He’s not feeling awkward, though, and he counts that as a win. He’s sure that Lottie knows some of what went down between Harry and Louis that night in May, but she isn’t looking at Harry like she pities him, nor does she look like she’s against him being here.

“Still having fun at the beauty school, I assume?” Harry strikes up a conversation just to keep the silence from stretching out for too long.

“Yup. I could do your makeup if you wanted to,” Lottie answers.

“I don’t use makeup,” Harry says, letting out a little burst of laughter, half surprised and half delighted that Lottie would even consider it.

“You’ve got a pretty face, though,” Lottie says and points her makeup brush at Harry. “Just some concealer on those dark under-eyes and you’d charm any boy off their feet.”

Harry can sense how Louis gives his sister an incredulous glance, before he goes back to making the tea. Harry’s face heats up.

“So I’ve been told. About the concealer, not about the boys,” he rambles, then changing the topic quickly to save his ass: “How’s living with Louis?”

He’s not sure if that’s a good topic change. He just went with the first thing that popped up in his head. Maybe he should really start thinking before talking.

“I hate it. Absolutely hate it,” Lottie says, twisting her face into a distasteful expression. “He takes way too long in the bathroom in the morning.”

“She’s lying,” Louis quips from where he’s pouring the hot water into two mugs.

Lottie seems to consider this for a while before she grins and says: “Yeah, actually it’s not true. He takes five minutes tops in the shower. It’s just annoying that he always seems to be there right when I need to shower.”

Louis in the shower really isn’t a mental image Harry needs. Nor is it a mental image he can easily erase once the idea has come to his mind. He clears his throat.

Then Lottie announces that she’s about to meet up with some friends and can’t grant the boys the luxury of her company for any longer. For a moment Harry is almost certain that being left alone with Louis is going to be a disaster, but then a sudden calmness comes over him. Nothing has been awkward so far, and there’s no reason why he should let his fright make it that way.

Louis hands him a cup of tea and they move to sit in the living room. The television is on, but neither one of them really pays any mind to the cooking show. They talk about what they have been up to in the past week and exchange gossip on their mutual friends. Harry gets up from the couch at one point and walks around the room, looking at the pictures on the walls and eyeing the papers on Louis’ desk, where Harry knows the boy works when he needs to write an essay or read for some test.

“What are you working on?” he asks as he examines one of the books lying on the table, though he isn’t really reading the back of it, just turning it around in his hands.

“An essay for the course about the 20th century’s philosophy. And another one about the philosophy of mind,” Louis tells.

Harry reads through some of Louis’ notes, tiny letters on the papers scattered around the desk. He knows Louis isn’t shy about his work, whether it’s finished or not. And why would he be? He is smart as hell.

“Is it weird that you’re here?” Louis asks after a while from behind Harry’s back, and Harry turns around.

“Not to me,” Harry shrugs.

He sips his tea and tries to read Louis’ facial expression, but Louis is just looking at him without giving anything away. His mouth is open a little, as if he’s about to say something more, but can’t quite decide which words to use.

“It’s got to be a little weird, though?” he says eventually, and it comes out sounding like a question.

Harry chews on his lip. It’d be easier if Louis didn’t want to bring this up again. They’ve talked about all these things, and Harry wishes they didn’t have to do it anymore. He knows it isn’t the heathiest way of dealing with things, pushing them aside and pretending like nothing is bothering them, but he’s just tired of the topic. He doesn’t feel like these conversations are taking them anywhere. What can be said has been said, and anything more is just a waste of their breath.

He sits down beside Louis on the couch, puts his half-finished cup of tea on the sofa table and his hand on Louis’ knee. He doesn’t really think about what he’s doing, until he raises his gaze to Louis’ face, and the boy has his eyes wide and his jaw clenched. He looks frozen on the spot.

Harry squeezes his knee a little, even slides his hand up a bit, settles it onto Louis’ thigh. Louis’ blue eyes are still glued to his.

“There’s nothing weird about me being here, if we don’t make it that way. It’s just me and you,” Harry says. “We’re still friends.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, and to be quite honest, Harry isn’t sure if his brain has short-circuited or something. He looks like it’s taking him some time to comprehend Harry’s words. Or maybe he just has hard time believing that Harry is telling him the truth, while Harry’s hand is touching his thigh. All that talk about friendship and whatnot.

Harry realizes that he really needs to get a better hold of the way his brain and body communicate with each other, because the next thing he knows, he has leaned forward and placed his lips on Louis’. As if this was a good time to kiss him.

Good as any, he figures, when after a beat Louis seems to melt under his touch and answer the kiss. Louis settles a gentle hand on Harry’s neck, and Harry circles his arms around the boy’s waist. His eyes are closed and he’s so lost in the exhilaration of finally getting to experience this that he doesn’t really care if Louis isn’t as into it as he is.

He figures that Louis must like it too, when the boy licks his lips open and slips his tongue into the kiss, holding a little tighter onto the back of Harry’s neck. He keeps the kiss gentle, but that doesn’t lessen the passionate feeling of it, the fire scorching in Harry’s chest. He feels light-headed, like he can’t breathe, but he loves it.

He slips his hands under the hem of Louis shirt and feels the warm skin there. He puts all the longing and sadness and desperation he has been feeling into the kiss. Suddenly he isn’t scared at all of Louis finding out how much Harry has needed this. He feels warm, soft and s _afe_ , and he doesn’t want it to end, ever.

But it’s not a surprise that his wish doesn’t come true. Louis pulls away, and Harry chases his lips just for a passing moment before he gives up. His eyelids linger shut and he can already feel Louis looking at him in a way that says this was a mistake. He doesn’t need to see it.

So when he opens his eyes, he directs his gaze at the television screen that blurs into meaningless colours. He lets go of Louis and leans back on the couch. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and he can feel his face getting red, either from embarrassment or the fact that he’s about to cry. Maybe it’s just a dreadful mix of both.

He gets up and takes a couple of steps towards the door.

“I um- I’ve got somewhere I need to go,” he says without looking back.

It’s not convincing, but it’s all he can force himself to say, and he feels like he needs to say something to keep up the pretence of _this is normal_ and _everything is fine_ and _I am not about to cry._

Louis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t follow him, when he walks to the door, takes his coat and leaves. He doesn’t let the tears spill until he has climbed down the stairs and pushed open the building’s front door.

People stare at his shiny wet cheeks in the bus, but he doesn’t care.

It was supposed to be normal, easy, not weird or awkward. Harry had convinced them both that nothing would be weird, if they themselves didn’t make it that way.

He just fucked that up.

 

\---

 

Harry presses his chin deeper into the warm protection of his woollen scarf as the cold wind blows past. It isn’t snowing anymore, and the day is bright despite the cloudy sky, a cover of white making everything look light and clean. He’s sitting on the bench next to Zayn, watching some of their friends trying to stay upright on the ice.

It didn’t come as a surprise that Zayn would opt out of skating and instead join Harry on the bench. He wasn’t up for making a fool of himself by falling on his face. Harry doesn’t have any great excuse for not joining the skaters. He just doesn’t feel like it.

He watches Louis make a circle around Niall and Jade as the two laugh hard at something and clutch onto each other’s arms to keep from fall. It’s a picturesque day, the clouds sheer enough for the light to get through. The only dangerously dark cloud is inside Harry’s head, quietly raining itself down and soaking him in the uneasy feeling it spreads.

It’s not like he hasn’t talked to Louis after the kiss. He has. They have texted and talked on the phone, even met a few times in some gatherings of their friends, just like today. They’ve been acting like it never happened.

Harry travelled home to Cheshire for Christmas, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay there for longer than a few days. His mother and sister are more sharp-eyed than he would like. They notice too easily when he isn’t feeling 100 percent alright, and he has to put so much effort into acting cheerful that it just tires him out. So instead of staying long enough for them to start making questions he would have no answers for, he told them that he had a few shifts at the store between Christmas and New Year, and came back to London.

From thereon he filled his weeks with studies and work, trying to drown out the part of him that couldn’t get over the fact that he had kissed Louis and Louis had kissed him back, no matter how fucked up that was. Unfortunately it seems to be impossible to compose a schedule so tight that it would leave no time for moping. As it is, Harry just mopes at work and finds his mind wandering whenever he tries to read.

“I kissed Louis before Christmas,” Harry confesses suddenly to Zayn.

He knows that Zayn would never ask, but he will listen if Harry decides to speak up, maybe even help. Or maybe he’ll just help by listening. Either way, Harry feels like he must say it out loud, give the kiss the acknowledgement it seems to be screaming for. Maybe then it will settle, sit back satisfied somewhere in the dark corners of Harry’s mind, where it won’t bother him all the damn time.

Zayn raises his eyebrows and gives Harry a long glance.

“I’m taking it didn’t lead to anything?” he says eventually.

“Yeah, it didn’t,” Harry admits. “Except that I’ve been freaking out over it for the past month.”

“Do you think you and Louis could end up becoming something more?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shakes his head and puts his cold hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t seem likely. I like him a lot, but… I don’t think he quite understands… feelings and stuff.”

“How do you mean?”

Harry stops to think for a moment. He has talked about this with Louis. Not in much depth, but all the same. He knows how Louis thinks.

“He just doesn’t recognize feelings that easily. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel anything, he just can’t read others ‒ or _himself_ ‒ that well. So I don’t think he realizes what hurts me and what doesn’t. A relationship with someone like that would be risky as it is, but when you add our past to that, it seems even more insane.”

Zayn nods. His eyes are a little squinted against the brightness of the day, as he’s leaning back on the bench and trying to read Harry’s facial expression.

“I feel like most philosophers are a little socially handicapped,” Zayn says, and without stopping to explain whether he thinks that difficulty can be overcome or not, he adds: “If you like him you like him. Can’t just fight with yourself for the rest of your life.”

Harry grants him a small rise of the corners of his lips before he turns back to gaze at the ice.

It’s clear that Zayn doesn’t think the situation is as impossible as Harry has built it up to be. And Harry _trusts_ Zayn, trusts his judgement. But isn’t it so that you never quite understand the difficulty of a situation before you are in it yourself?

On the other hand, sometimes it’s much easier to see the way out of a maze when you are looking at it from the outside. So maybe Harry shouldn’t ignore what Zayn is telling him. Maybe there’s a simple solution that Harry just can’t see with all the heavy walls falling on him and weighing on his back.

 

\---

 

There is no simple solution. There are just complicated, idiotically masochistic solutions, Harry notes to himself, as he pushes Louis’ back flush to a red brick wall on an alley behind the club. The music is so loud that they can feel the thumping of it even when they’re standing outside the building.

Without thinking too much Harry crashes his mouth on Louis’. He has had enough of games, enough of the hide and seek they’ve been playing. He knows he’s being stupid, irrational and rushed, and if Zayn knew what he is doing right now, he wouldn’t approve of his drunken-out-of-his-head decision-making.

But Louis just melts under his lips, takes what he can get. Just like always. It’s not like they have kissed that many times. Just some unplanned pecks on the lips when they part ways, or whenever Harry’s feeling unusually enamoured by Louis, and mindless snogs whenever Harry gets himself drunk and Louis can’t say no to him. Louis never initiates anything.

And to be honest, it pisses Harry off. He needs a man who can take control. Or maybe it’s just his drunken state making him think that way, maybe it’s just that the night has been long and there have been way too many invading questions from Sophia and way too many crappy pick-up lines from some law school douche who clearly thought the world of himself, and to whom Harry only talked to see if it would piss Louis off.

It only started pissing Louis off when Harry let the law schooler grab his ass and push his tongue into his mouth. That’s when annoyance shone right through on Louis’ face, but the boy still wouldn’t say anything out loud. He just stood to the side and sipped his non-alcoholic beer and kept an eye on Harry.

Eventually Harry had to get rid of the law schooler, as the guy started making too forward suggestions. It’s not like Harry would have ever taken things any further than that. He already felt disgusted of himself, and embarrassed that he had done this in front of all his friends at a faculty party.

At one point Zayn grabbed his arm and asked him how he was feeling. He said he was fine and Zayn reluctantly accepted it. There isn’t much he could have done, after all, he isn’t responsible for Harry.

After that Sophia took Harry out for a smoke even though he doesn’t smoke. She started pestering Harry about the nature of his relationship with Louis, and Harry ended up yelling at her face.

It wasn’t very nice of him, and to be honest, he should have expected their friends to catch up at some point. Harry wasn’t exactly hiding the dumbly fond look on his face every time he saw Louis, or the fact that Louis was still his favourite person to talk to. And Louis wasn’t doing a very good job of giving his attention to anyone but Harry whenever Harry was around. It would have been quite naïve of Harry to think that their friends wouldn’t notice anything.

And that’s how Harry ended up here, outside the club. Or at least he thinks that’s how it went, he’s a bit too drunk to be completely certain of anything right now. However, he’s pretty sure that he was more upset about the episode with Sophia than the girl was, even though she was the one getting yelled at. So when Harry stormed away from her, he grabbed Louis’ hand and dragged him out here.

And now they’re kissing. Because kissing is a lot less complicated than questions and games and words.

But then Louis pushes him away, ever so gently, and looks at him confusedly.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Harry lies and pouts at him, unhappy for being denied the kisses.

Louis touches his hair absentmindedly, either because he doesn’t know what else to do, or because he thinks it will comfort Harry, calm him down.

It doesn’t calm him down, though. It drives him wild.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he demands answers, words slurring together a little.

“It’s not right,” Louis says quietly. “I know it’s what you think you want now, Harry, but it’s not right.”

“You’ve already forbidden yourself from drinking, you don’t need to forbid kissing, too,” Harry argues.

“You need to calm down. You’re drunk,” Louis says, looking deep into Harry’s eyes.

He cups Harry’s face between his hands as if he was about to kiss him, but Harry knows that is not the case. This is just Louis taking control, calming him down. Bringing him down.

“If it’s all just yes or no to you, all black and white, then why am I so grey?” Harry asks him slowly.

Louis’ lips part a little, but he ends up saying nothing. Harry rolls his own words back and forth in his head. He’s a little too drunk to figure out if what he said made sense or not.

 

\---

 

Harry can feel Louis’ heartbeat against his cheek, as he has nestled close to the boy’s chest. The white sheets are tangled around their hips and the sunlight flooding in through the sheer curtains feels warm. Louis’ arm is around Harry, drawing lazy circles on the skin of his bare shoulder. He’s staring out of the window, seeming to have fallen deep into his thoughts.

Harry reaches his hand around Louis’ waist and holds him tighter. If he never has to move again, he will be happy. Happy forever. He closes his eyes.

He isn’t really used to _not_ hating himself after he has slept with someone. But before, the someone was never Louis. So Harry lets himself bask in the afterglow, feel the sweaty skin against sweaty skin and just stay here.

“What are you thinking?” Louis whispers and gently pulls on a tuft of Harry’s curly hair with the hand that isn’t trapped under Harry’s body.

“Nothing, just- sleepy,” he lies.

He doesn’t know why he does it. He wanted to say happy, but that would have felt like too much of a confession, almost as if he was revealing his deepest darkest secrets. Maybe he just doesn’t want to scare Louis away now that they are here. There’s no need to make Louis think that he would be clingy, annoying. He is definitely feeling clingy, right to the point of being annoying. If Louis was anyone else, Harry doubts he would still be so oblivious to how completely Harry is at his mercy, how much he could hurt him.

With these murky thoughts the momentary bliss and peacefulness in Harry’s bones is already gone. The sun goes hiding behind a cloud as if it knew that Harry has lost the happiness again. A shiver goes down his body.

“Then sleep,” Louis says and goes back to drawing mindless patterns on Harry’s skin.

He pulls the covers up over them and carefully tucks them around Harry, as well as he can from where he is lying, held in place by Harry’s clutch on him.

And Harry is going to keep that clutch, for as long as he can. Because as it seems, perfect happiness is just a speck of dust that lands on your nose and only last for the fleeting second before it starts tickling too much and you sneeze it away.

Maybe one day Louis won’t fear that he’s breaking Harry, and maybe one day Harry won’t fear that the truth would push Louis away. Maybe one day they won’t be scared.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the open ending is kind of lame? Sorry? This story’s been lying around for a while, decided to finish it the best I could and let it out into the world. Comments, kudos and bookmarking are all appreciated! Thanks for reading! I’m @goesbyvee in twitter if you want to have a chat. :)


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